


Triptych

by notxelven



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, Kink Meme, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Slow Burn, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-27 17:19:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2700998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notxelven/pseuds/notxelven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An old fill from the Kink Meme that I'm bringing back because I missed it.</p><p>Writing each other letters over the course of centuries is one thing, rebuilding friendships destroyed over nearly a century of antagonism is quite another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Miss Kiss Kiss Bang

He was walking through the winter palace in a long vileiski style coat, the fishes on his heavily embroidered sash swam away into the rivers on the walls as snow fell from the ceiling. He tightened his grip on his knife and did not concern himself with the runaway fish--big brother had to be here somewhere. He had to warn him about the wolves.  
  
Somewhere, he could hear a brass band, extremely out of place in.  _Miss Kiss Kiss Bang she’s not a fool; extraordinary and oh so cool!_  
  
Oh. Belarus opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling for a moment, listening to his phone's insistent song.  _When I feel the touch of her sweet lips, I know this is the devil’s kiss._ He rolled over to answer it; attributing his irrational hope that she might standing at his door to sleep deprivation--she was at an informal G-20 meeting in Mexico, preparing for the real summit in May. “Ally, it is,” he glanced at the clock, “two thirty.”  
  
“Hello to you too.”  
  
“Is there a reason you call?”  
  
“Well uhhh, you know you’re awesome, right?”  
  
“Please get to the point.”  
  
“Russia kinda invited me to dinner and I wanna know if it’s okay to kiss him.”  
  
Belarus bit down on his jealousy and closed his eyes with a sigh. “We are not exclusive.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, they both had human lovers on the side, but Lithuania was the only nation other than America who wasn’t entirely frightened of him and he rather suspected that England was exclusively with France now, leaving Allyson alone at summits (a dark corner of his mind saw the three of them in bed with sweat slicked skin and their hands in her soft hair). “Since when do you ask my permission?”  
  
“Well, I know Russia’s kinda your person, y’know? I'm sorry, he invited me out and you know how I am about food, I should have said n--”  
  
He allowed himself a small smile. “I appreciate it Allyson. Now stop hiding in the toilets and enjoy your evening.”  
  
“But Niko--”  
  
“Ally please do not leave my brother waiting--he is very sensitive about these things. Good night.”  
  
“Sweet Dreams Niko.”  
  
Belarus ran a hand through his pale hair after they hung up. If Allyson were anyone else, he would have killed her right through the phone--physics be damned. He closed the eyes against the heartbreaking image of her and his brother salsa dancing on a moonlit beach in Mexico, tried telling himself that they were far from any beaches and that Ivan couldn’t dance salsa. It did no good. He needed a drink. 

* * *

 

The first time either of them saw her was in June 1765. Following a minor disturbance at court in which the two of them had been involved, Russia’s beloved Empress had seen fit to send them off for a bit--to cool their heads. So Russia, who had his hands in more than a few shipping companies (not that he needed the extra income), took his younger brother Belarus with him on a voyage to the New World.  
  
Belarus spent most of the next few months working with the sailors, though he took his dinner with his older brother and the officers and spent the nights in his brother’s cabin. Belarus had a hammock to sleep in, but could never get used to the way it rocked and rattled him awake--most nights he slept with Russia; strong, capable big brother Russia, who would sing him lullabies in a gentle voice reserved only for him, and pretended not to notice if Belarus cuddled closer than strictly necessary after a nightmare.  
  
Russia, for his part, spent much of the day helping the captain and navigator; both extremely competent men who probably did not need it, but allowed him to impose. Sometimes he joined his brother and the crew, reveling in the exertion and activity though he kept these occasions to a minimum--like Russia, young Belarus had a difficult time making friends, and he did not want to get in the way. They had gone ashore in France and sunny Spain before making their way to Virginia colony, which was not strictly legal though he suspected that England neither knew nor cared that his colonists disobeyed these laws.  
  
As they came ashore that fateful summer day, both Russia and Belarus keenly felt the presence of one of their kind. If Russia worried it was England, it didn’t show, his pleasant smile never faltered as they stood at the railing watching the docks come nearer and nearer. Belarus never worried--he was certain that his big brother could defeat even Anglia if it came to that.  
  
No England was waiting for them as they disembarked. Instead of the gallant pirate, a young dockworker in simple homespun met them as they disembarked. His curly blond hair was escaping its ribbon--probably given to him by a girl and far too nice to wear working on the docks, and bright blue eyes as wide as the sky were shaded under his hand as he tried to see them through the sun.  
  
“Hello!” the slim boy greeted, holding out his hand as they descended from the ship and approached, “Who’re you?”  
  
Russia seemed immediately enchanted by the boy, though Belarus could not fault him for this (and even if he could, he would forgive his brother anything). Alfred Kirkland was beautifully fascinating, alternately brash and bashful he was exactly the sort of person his brother normally pursued. It was obvious he was the one they felt; England’s little America, benignly neglected most years, and spoiled rotten on others. Russia was called back to help with the inventory, but he allowed Belarus to run free with the colony, asking Alfred to bring him back to the ship before supper.

Belarus spoke hardly any English, but as America dragged him through the port town, small hand clasped tightly in his larger one he found it didn’t matter. They both spoke passable, if somewhat clumsy French, and Alfred’s high almost girly voice was like music to Belarus’ ears.  
  
“Est-ce que vous voulez un bonbon?”  _Do you want a candy?_ America pulled Belarus into the general store without waiting for a response. “Aimez-vous le...le...le menthe? Ce monsieur vend aussi du dentelle très magnifique, vous aimez bien la dentelle? Stupid question. Desolee, je sais que vous êtes un homme, je n’ai pas demandez.”  _Do you like mint? The man also has magnificent lace, do you like lace? Stupid Question. Sorry, I know you're a man, I didn't ask that._  
  
Belarus laughed, “Euh, mon frère m’a pas donné de l’argent, mais je trouve la dentelle très jolie.”  _Umm...my brother didn't give me money, but I do like lace._  
  
America’s eyes went wide(r), “Non, non, j’achète!”  _No, I'm buying_ he pulled Belarus up to the counter. “Good day, Mr. Jones!”  
  
“Hello, young Kirkland, made a new friend I see!”  
  
“Oh yeah! Mr. Jones this is Nicholai Braginsky--he’s from Russia. Nicholai, je vous présent Monsieur Jones!”  
  
“Hello, Mr. Jones.” Belarus greeted hesitantly as Jones came around the counter to shake his hand. “I am...happy to meet you.”  
  
“Très content de vous rencontrer.” Mr. Jones smiled. “Si, je connais Ally--Alfred, il veut vous acheter quelques chocolats.” _If I know Ally--Alfred, he wants to buy you some chocolates!_  
  
America paled dramatically, “Mr. Jones!”  
  
“I caught myself.” he defended. “Bienvenue à Virginie Monsieur Braginsky.”  _Welcome to Virginia Mr. Braginsky_  Mr. Jones went back behind the counter and produced a small box of chocolates and mints, which America swiftly paid for before pulling Belarus from the store and to the town square. They ate their chocolates at the foot of a small statue as America who looked quite a bit younger than his more solidly built counterpart asked him a string of questions in awkward French. They played a bit with some children in the square, though Belarus was probably a bit old to be joining them he laughed as brightly as America who practically shone like the sun among his people.  
  
As they walked back to the docks, America shyly asked if they might use  _tu_ and if Russia and Belarus wouldn’t care to join him at his house--Sylivie would make chicken and he had strawberries.   
  
Oh how he hoped Big Brother would say yes.

* * *

Notes :

Traditional Belarusian clothes bear a lot of Polish and Russian influence, but also some more Western influences. Their collars are more like western collars and turn down. A Vileiski coat is one from the Vileiski region (please correct me if the transliteration is wrong or if I’m about to describe the wrong region), they are about mid-calf length and held together with a brightly embroidered sash. Usually paired with a fluffy hat. Traditionally favored colors are reds, blues, whites and greens.  
  
The Winter Palace is obviously Russia’s. Headcanon says Belarus and Ukraine spent a lot of time there while part of the Empire.  
  
Miss Kiss Kiss Bang: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2FAuk8qGImA  
  
This was Germany’s entry to Eurovision 2009 but one of the singers was originally from Flint, MI.

Chocolates would be a very expensive treat, but they did have them and England probably gives little Ally some good pocket money to make up for never being there. Head!canon says that 'her' house in town is actually England's, and she spends most of her year at their small to midsize plantation where she enjoys running about like a little hellion in boy's clothes.  
  
Russia first started trading with the American colonies in 1763, but this was actually illegal. At this point in time the colonies suffered from benign neglect however and were able to do their own thing up until after the 7 years war, when Britain decided to start enforcing laws and taxes already on the books. This ticked the colonists off, and the rest you know...

America's grammatical errors in French are intentional. 

 


	2. It's just like Swing, only not.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Russia invites America to dinner at a fancy restaurant so that she can't pretend she doesn't know it's a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some minor edits from the original kink_meme posting.

Russia took her to an expensive restaurant not because he wanted to impress her--in fact, she may have been happier at that American style diner they’d passed--but because he wanted to see her in her favorite blue cocktail dress that flared out just so when she spun and because he wanted her to know that this was a date and be unable to pretend obliviousness. Also because he cared about the food.

He was almost disappointed to see her answer the door in a new champagne colored dress with layers of tulle flowing down from an empire waist to mid-thigh--but it was a bit shorter than her other dress, and when she asked him to tie her sash he thought he could grow to like this dress too.

The food was excellent and the conversation delightful. If he were to try talking mathematics with any of the (mostly blond haired, blue eyed) human girls he occasionally went out with back home, it would be met with a raised eyebrow and disinterested stares, astrophysics and engineering fared better, being the practical and interesting application of a generally derided subject. America, however, was up to date on the latest research and developments and mentioned that she might be going back to school just for kicks--though her Secretary of State had suggested maybe pursuing a major in International Relations instead of another math degree (Russia privately agreed but had the good sense not to say so).

They were holding hands across the table and talking horror movies when he slid his leg against hers and she suddenly excused herself, letting go of his hand and pushing the chair from the table with a terrifyingly hesitant laugh. He kicked himself for thinking he could get away with that even if all the signals said go--America was, in spite of it all, a bit of a prude; he had probably scared her. She spent a long time in the bathroom, but when she came back with a bright smile and took his hand again as she sat down he let himself hope it might be okay.

“I was worried you drowned.” he quipped as he poured her another glass of wine.

“Hush, I’m not that stupid.” she rolled her eyes, “Just had to take a call is all.”

“From whom?”

She sipped her wine. “Do you remember when we first met?”

Russia laughed at her change of subject but didn’t push it. “You were so adorable. I knew you were a girl when you shook my hand; but it was so cute how you tried to hide it. Nicholai was surprised though, when the maid had you change.”

“Oh god.” America hid her face in her free hand, “I was so mad at her! She ruined my dinner--I thought you wouldn’t like me anymore and my stays itched and my stupid lace thingy wouldn’t stay straight.”

“It was adorable.” Russia insisted, “I think my brother had, how you say...a crush, for a long time. Do you remember, he made me write you letters? Once he learned English he never let me help anymore--he told me to go write my own.”

“I still have them--and yours too. All digitized and everything” she hesitated. “I think he misses you.”

His heart stopped cold. “Do you still write?”

“No.” America shook her head, “Not since the twenties. We talk a bit though at conferences.”

An awkward silence stretched between them, America’s accusation going unsaid.

“What do you say we blow this joint and find a salsa bar?” she asked suddenly.

“Allyson, I don’t know salsa.”

“Nonsense, I’ll teach you--it’s just like swing only not.”

* * *

They wrote for years. Every week his beloved little brother made him sit down and compose a letter to his Darling Allyson. They always opened with To Our Darling Allyson, using human names because she had been so quick to give permission and filling her in on the goings-on that Nicholai deemed important. Russia and Ukraine found it amusing how devoted their brother was to these letters, and how hard he tried to hide his infatuation and play it off as mere friendship.  
  
When America came with her Ambassadors to present their credentials and try establishing diplomatic ties he kept an eye on her during meetings and allowed his brother to frighten off all the nice young men at court who wanted to dance with her. She was such a sweet girl after all, so trusting; it was good of Nicholai to protect her.  
  
When his brother finally trusted his English enough to write on his own he guarded his letters jealously. Every once in a while America, Allyson, would write to Russia as well, and Russia always wrote back but mainly correspondence was between her and Nicholai; he often wondered if his little brother wrote her poetry and declarations of love or if he kept those to himself.  
  
When she sent doctors and nurses and eventually came herself to help him during the Crimean War he saw his brother’s heart break at how beautiful she had become. Clever Nicholai who was always as swift and sharp with his tongue as with his knives barely trusted himself to speak in her presence. Nicholai turned pink every time she patted his shoulder or pressed a friendly kiss to his cheek, and America never noticed. Russia felt bad sending his brother back home during her visit, but someone really did need to bring the news back to St. Petersburg and he himself was not yet well enough to travel.  
  
He didn’t know why he kissed her as he escorted her back to her ship, except that she was pretty and sweet and innocent and it seemed a perfect day to do so. It seemed unfair somehow, as though he was taking something of Nicholai’s--but they shared everything they had and if Nicholai had not taken this chance himself Russia could not be held accountable.

That wasn’t when he fell in love with her though, as happy a memory as it was. It wasn’t until her Civil War, when he anchored some ships in New York--more to protect them from France and Britain than to offer support. They had been warmly welcomed nonetheless, though America hadn’t been there to greet him.  
  
Nicholai had told him before leaving that she was sending letters from the front, that she had cut her hair and donned the uniform of a private. It didn’t surprise Russia then when she was discovered and sent back to New York, that her hair was short and she slept poorly.  
  
She had welcomed him happily though to her lavish apartment, refusing to allow him to stay in his hotel. She wore dark clothes to hide when her cuts sometimes bled through, and avoided dancing because of her limp though she took care to always be smiling.  
  
Many nights she cried herself to sleep. One night, when Russia could bear it no longer he rose to join her, still in his nightshirt he gathered her into his arms and carded his fingers through her roughly cut locks of gold as he sang her a lullaby. However inappropriate the situation may have been, the two of them practically undressed and unsupervised, he would not have done it differently. His brother would have done the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Russian Empire did not actually recognize America until 1783 because of ties with Britain, but the first Ambassadors were sent in 1780. I'm betting America jumped at the chance to wear pretty dresses and see her friends again.
> 
> The Crimean War occurred during the 1850s, about 10 years before America's civil war. The newly founded American Red Cross sent doctors and nurses to help the soldiers, more were sent to the Russians than to the French, British or Ottomans; whether this has to do with how badly they were getting their butts kicked or how much America liked the Empire is debatable, but those helping the Russians got federal money, and those helping everyone else didn't. So take that as you will.


	3. Open Water

America liked swimming. Her back and forth glide through the pool was meditative and relaxing in its repetition. She had to be in the mood for it, but if there was ever a day for swimming it was today. She would have preferred a beach, she thought, so she could swim towards open water and just float a bit, staring into the clouds; but when peace and solitude could not be achieved then repetitive motion alone in the hotel pool would do just fine.

As she raced her watery shadow back towards the wall however, a pair of legs invaded her empty pool and she narrowly avoided being kicked in the face. She came back to the world above sputtering an angry slur of curses.

“Good Morning.” Russia’s voice greeted her as she pulled off her goggles and wiped stinging chlorine from her eyes. He had always been beautiful, even when she hated him, but when he smiled like that...she shook her head and pulled herself out of the pool.

“You come to creep on me in my swimsuit?” she asked, pulling her towel from a nearby chaise lounge and drying off.

“In that thing?” Russia scoffed, turning to give the navy blue one piece a once-over, eyes lingering longer than necessary on the long line of her legs. “Not likely. I brought you coffee.”

Sure enough, on the little glass table next to her chair sat two cups of hotel Starbucks and what appeared to be a box of donuts. “There’s no food allowed in the pool area.”

“I asked the maid very nicely.”

“Well, aren’t you the little charmer!” America opened her phone to see that Belarus had called during her swim, so she took her coffee and slid on her flip-flops, fully prepared to leave even as her mind played out what might happen if she joined Russia at the edge of the pool. She could pull him in and soak his white designer duds so they’d cling to his broad back and strong legs; the two of them would splash around a bit, he would pretend to be angry and she would just laugh. Maybe they would kiss like they had last night. “Thanks for breakfast.”

“I told her I had something very important to ask you.” Russia called, his voice stopping her at the door.

“Oh really?”

“I thought we might discuss it over breakfast, but you have not even looked at your donuts.” She heard him rise from the pool and against her better judgement waited for him to pick up his coffee and donuts and join her at the door. “They have sprinkles.”

* * *

Once upon a time Niko wrote her letters. They were things of beauty and in them he told her about the frost on windows and flowers in the garden. He told her about the latest fashions at court, the books he loved, about how his sister embroidered him sashes like what they wore in his lands, how his big brother taught him bladework and songs.

Allyson told him about her revolution, and how much she missed England. She wrote about her little farmhouse and building chairs, and about sleeping under the stars. When she’d been called to spend some time at the White House, forced to dress properly in itchy but beautiful dresses and put ribbons in her hair, she wrote him about that too.

They also made plans. They built a world of gardens and prairies and castles in the sky with no room for war. Niko was proud to fight for his brother, and Allyson was proud to cut her hair and fight alongside those who were dying to keep her whole--at least at first; in spite of this, no small part of them was horrified by it.

_I don’t know how you can sleep, she wrote him once during her war, I can’t. Your letters keep me sane and smiling though and thank you for loaning me your brother; his company after many a nightmare has made me feel as if I might pull out of this yet (and of course I will! Not even I can defeat me). Sometimes I feel like you are my only friends; even I want me dead after all. Ha! He shall be the guard of our little island, I decided. Canada will help him._

They went decades without ever seeing one another, but that hardly mattered. Niko in person was so much shyer than the articulate boy who wrote her letters, and Allyson had a dim suspicion that she might be a bit annoying for such a deliberate young man to deal with. When she did get to deal with the Empire in person, she spoke with Russia who explained that it might be perceived by her leaders as an insult if he sent his brother--who wasn’t prepared to be dealing with international politics by the way--even if they were good friends.

He would show her portraits of them though, small ones of his brother and sister that he kept on a chain with his watch and a larger one of the three of them together that apparently came with him on long voyages. Outside of negotiations, where everything was very formal and she wasn’t allowed to talk much anyway, they went hunting and played games and she was never sure if saw Russia as Niko’s brother, or Niko as Russia’s.


	4. Love is hard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just as things start going well between America and Russia, she derails it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is entirely in Mexico City. I had originally started writing this a few years ago and had to update the political references to reflect current events -- so that bit talking about Ukraine and Syria is a bit awkward. I will probably go through and edit again for structure and if anyone is interested in being a beta reader I would be so so grateful.

America kind of hated conferences. Not that she didn’t enjoy seeing everybody, but she just thought it was pointless to sit there debating policy that their leaders would decide with or without their input--she’d seen it happen a dozen times, the country spent the entirety of the conference bringing everybody around to an issue, and the Boss would reject the treaty or demand exemptions. How many times had her Bosses done it to her?

So she expressed her displeasure in subtle ways. Such as wasting everyone’s time with bullshit solutions that wouldn’t do any more than their serious ones and only discussing policy one on one. A lot of nations thought she was stupid until they actually held a conversation with her outside of meetings or took their rotation on the Security Council; whether or not she gave them actual policy or more robots and ponies bullshit depended on how well they treated her, meaning that many of them went right on thinking she was an idiot. Except for Poland---he saw right through her and proclaimed it: _like, totally fucking genius._

Which was just fine, they didn’t keep track of the subtleties of their conversations and she learned so much more that way. Mexico kept trying to bait her into immigration talk though, Canada was trying to keep her from Mexico and England wasn’t having any of her idiot act as he tried getting her to make some kind of commitment on the Ukraine front even though she strongly suspected the whole NATO thing had a bit to do with how quickly that had escalated and couldn’t somebody else pull their weight for once? She was liable to make it worse.

She was relieved when Canada invited Russia to join them for lunch on the second day at a small sidewalk cafe. She and Russia had already exhausted Ukraine and Syria as topics of conversation (nearly coming to blows in the conference room) and the only things left were space, movies and hockey. The three of them had a pleasant conversation America said nothing and didn’t pull away when Russia took her hand on the way back to the conference center, she just tried to convince the butterflies in her stomach to go bother someone else and asked Canada what he was doing for dinner.

* * *

“You know we’re sleeping together, right?” Allyson asked abruptly as Ivan leaned in for a kiss, his smile broadened, then cracked as she rushed to add to that statement, “Niko and me?”

“I see,”Ivan sighed, not releasing her arm and looking at the way their hands were clasped.  For how long had this been going on, he wondered. It was unfair of her to be using his brother like this, selfish girl that she was probably couldn’t even see it. “Why are you telling me this?”

“He loves you!” Allyson had a tendency to spout nonsense every which way and hold the truly important things for herself until it was too late and she couldn’t stop herself as they bubbled out in spurts, like now. “And I don’t want to take that from him but I want you and you’ve been nice and you talk math and I wanna know if you still cuddle but Ivan he loves you and I can’t do that to him!”

“This is not a conversation for the hallway.” Ivan decided, he took the key card from Allyson’s other hand and opened the door. “You will drink with me, yes?”

“Dude.” Allyson complained and he felt the way she closed herself up as he guided her into the room with his hand on the small of her back, “Just let yourself in, why don’t you?”

“Don’t mind if I do.” Ivan chuckled as Allyson pulled away.

“I am so not okay with this.”

“And I am not okay, as you say, with avoiding this any longer. Allyson, we’ve known each other for over 200 years now, why can’t we talk about anything more serious than our space programs?”

“Because this isn’t fucking Sex and the City!” Allyson exclaimed, pushing past him to dig the whiskey out of her luggage. The minibar wasn't going to cut it.

“But once-”

“Yeah Ivan, I know.”

“I love my brother too, you realize.”

“I know.” She poured the whiskey into two hotel glasses and handed one to Ivan. “What shall we toast to?”

“Peacetime, and old friends.”

“I’ll drink to that.” they clinked their glasses and Allyson downed hers in one gulp, coughing as she poured herself a second. “Too old for this shit.” she muttered.

“How must poor England feel, I wonder?”

“The fuck kind of conversation do you want to have?” Allyson jerked her arm back as he moved to take away her whiskey, she tended to be violent if she drank too much, “Try it and I swear to god I will break you in two.”

Ivan relented. “I want to discuss Nicholai. You are not to be cheating on him, not with me, not with anybody.”

“We’re not dating, we’re fucking.” Allyson groaned, “He can’t get his mind off you. Everything is always about you--браце this, Ivan that, Russia, Russia, Russia.”

“He was in love with you, once.”

Allyson scoffed, “Do we really have to have this conversation?”

“I feel as though we haven’t had a real conversation since 1910.”

“We had a very productive conversation about small arms control just this afternoon.”

“You know what I mean.”

“You’re the one that keeps walking away anyway so don’t blame it on me.”

“If I keep walking away it is only because you ask it of me.”

Allyson muttered something under her breath, it sounded suspiciously close to pinko commie bastard. “Look Ivan, what we used to, that...whatever it was it’s gone.”

“Then why are we still speaking?” Ivan set aside his glass and tried taking Allyson’s hand, “We need--”

“ _We_ don’t need to do shit.” she snapped, pulling it away.

“Allyson.”

“You should call your brother.” she insisted, as she always did since the nineties. He used to think it a tactic to get rid of him.

“It’s not fair of you--to use him as a replacement. We can try to build what we had but you shouldn’t hurt him like that.”

“A replacement?” Allyson finished her second glass, and shook her head. “You don’t understand at all, do you? None of you do. Niko’s something totally different and everyone thinks he’s just some creepy, damaged extension of you!”

Ivan was taken aback. “Do you mean this?”

“We were doing so good too.” Allyson muttered.

“Allyson.”

“I’m going for a walk.” she snapped pushing past him and pulling out her phone as she shut the door behind her.

Somehow Allyson found herself sitting alone at the base of _Columna de la Independencia_ , quite far from the hotel. She knew she shouldn’t be here but wasn’t all that worried, something about nations tended to isolate them from most humans. She scrolled through her texts, Niko had checked in on how her night had gone and filled her in on his own day. He asked her to send Ivan his love.

She suspected Niko was the reason Ivan’s number changed so frequently. They hadn’t spoken in years, which must have been awkward given the friendly state of relations between their governments.

She risked a glance upwards but the sky was dark and the bright lights of the city drowned out all the stars.

The proximity of all these nations was suffocating. Twenty in the same city, two of them coming up the block.

“I shouldn’t be surprised to find you here.” Mexico’s voice held more amusement than anything else as he took a seat next to her. “I am, but I don't know why.”

Roberto was beautiful in a way the European nations mostly weren’t. His face was rounder, brown skin smoother, and black hair thicker. As much as humans liked to play up pretty blue or green eyes, Allyson had always been fond of his rich brown ones. They seemed older somehow than Roberto. She watched him quietly as he leaned back on his elbows and surveyed the still busy streets with the comfortable smile of a nation among his people.

Canada was with him too, and whatever their differences Allyson understood that her neighbors were also her closest friends.

“Did he send you after me?”

Roberto laughed. “Your twin thought you were upset.”

“Sorry, Mattie.”

“S’Okay.”

“Love is hard for us.” in a smooth motion Roberto rose and held out his hand, “Harder, I think than for humans.”

“Nobody asked you.” Allyson took his hand anyway and joined them on the quiet walk back to the hotel.

She loved them still, and the quiet realization would keep her awake for the next week.

 

 


End file.
